Jerry touched Neil’s shoulder to get his attention. He held his finger over his pursed lips to quiet Neil as he awoke. The younger man leaned closely and whispered into Neil’s ear, “We got company over on the road. I don’t think they know we’re here, but I think we should get the others up.”
From his semi-dry blue plastic cocoon, Neil couldn’t see anything other than Jerry’s shadow-enshrouded face. He fought back the urge to retreat further from the waking world into his current sensory-deprived surroundings.
Neil rose slowly, as if the heavy world would have it no other way. His weariness had hidden from him the hard uneven surface of his makeshift bed, but the resulting aches and pains were all too eager to point themselves out. He was thankful he wasn’t already on the run, allowing him the opportunity to stretch. Neil eased himself out from under the tarp, careful not to make any more noise than was unavoidable.
He realized he was the last adult to be roused. The others were already kneeling in various intervals around the camp. In the modest moonlight, Neil was only able to discern the most basic shapes and forms of individuals, but defining features and characteristics were absent. Della was hovering near the still sleeping children. She didn’t have a firearm, but she was sporting a baseball bat that cast a bit of a metallic glint against the darkness. DB and Alec, an honorary adult, were the furthest away and were both now armed with rifles given to them by Neil. Emma and Claire were a little closer but still several feet away. They too were armed and ready, looking out toward the highway beyond.
Finally, Meghan, waiting patiently next to Jerry, handed Neil his shotgun and then fell against him. Her cheeks were wet with rain, but he could tell that the rain was doing its level best to conceal the warm tears that were also present. With her fragile vulnerability pleading from her eyes, Meghan could not possibly have looked more beautiful or precious to Neil. Despite her matted, dripping hair and the filth of living on the go and largely in the wild clinging to her, Meghan was every bit as beautiful as the still fading dream image of his long ago bride.
It didn’t seem to matter that the world was dying in violent convulsions all around them when he looked at her. He begged for the power or the insight to make things better for her. Neil did the only thing he could think to do. He wrapped his arms around her and tried to hug away the fear and the accompanying tears. He kissed her forehead and professed his love with a knowing look and a second kiss on her lips.
She tried to smile, but Meghan was nearing her limit, that much was clear to Neil. And like his past failed attempts at resolving problems in relationships, he was at a loss as to what to do. It wasn’t as simple as stopping smoking, remembering to take out the trash, or taking constructive criticism and advice more seriously. Try as he might, he couldn’t seem to figure a way to stave off the horrors of the world for Meghan.
For the moment, all he could do was help them all to see another sunrise. That would be something at least. To that end, he leaned against the dark, wet curtain of thick slate slabs screening them from the passing horde.
Jerry motioned toward the road with a head nod and whispered, “There’s a big group over there...on the road. I think they’re moving north. That’s how it sounds anyway. With any luck, they’ll pass us on by.”
To Neil, that wasn’t necessarily a sound gamble. He worried aloud, “I hope we’re not counting too much on our luck. Last time I checked, our luck wasn’t serving us too well.” Neil paused for a thoughtful moment and then said quietly, “Why are they on the move?”
Jerry considered Neil’s question and then answered with a whisper, “Maybe your shooting down the road? If I were to venture a guess, I’d have to say that’s as likely a cause as anything.”
Neil felt the frustration in Jerry’s words. He was, after all, more than likely right in both his assessment as well as his irritability. Neil could easily have pointed out that it was Emma who started the shooting in the first place, but stopped himself before the juvenile excuse of she started it was given voice. Instead, he asked, “So where are they going then?”
Jerry shrugged his shoulders. “They probably don’t even know. They heard the gunshots and their brains told them to follow the sound to find food. Once they get going, it’s really just one of Newton’s Laws of Motion. They’ll keep heading in that direction until some other force causes them to stop or turn around. They’ll just go and go...probably right off a cliff if something doesn’t stop them first.”
“Do you really think it could be that simple?”
Shaking his head in doubt, Jerry replied, “I really don’t know. So long as they keep passing us by, what does it matter? If they’re not in front of us, isn’t that a good thing? Rather them in the rearview mirror than the headlights, know what I mean?”
“Yeah. I guess you’re right.”
Jerry’s judgment was logical and entirely possible. It was also something that they might be able to use to their benefit in dealing with the undead in the future. Despite this possibility, Neil was finding it hard to be comfortable. Regardless of the direction in which they were heading, there were still scores and perhaps more of the walking corpses passing them a mere handful of yards away. He was worried that he and the others would never be granted the opportunity to explore Jerry’s suppositions. The peril of their situation was staggering.
Neil was right too. The dragging shuffle of feet on pavement and the occasional tortured grunt or moan emerging from the darkness was unnerving to say the least. Some of the sounds were coming from disturbingly close and led many of them to start, chewing on fingers already gnawed to the quick.
He wondered to himself if there was anything he could do to improve the odds. He imagined, for a moment, running headlong into the pack. He’d have his guns blazing and when they were all emptied, he would start swinging his bat. In a heartbeat, he envisioned him successfully bludgeoning enough of the fiends to rally support from the others until they had killed them all. And then, in the same instance, he imagined him swinging the bat a few times until his exhaustion and the sheer numbers of the ghouls overwhelmed him beneath a pile of decaying, but still clawing flesh. That’s just how it was with Neil and even the end of the world hadn’t changed his self-defeating nature from emerging during his own redemption fantasies. He was, instead, frightened to inaction once again, choosing to allow circumstance and chance to determine his fate. He was the master of passivity.
Meanwhile, the rain and the dark worked hand in hand as unwitting allies to the small band’s survival gambit. They hunkered down beneath blue tarpaulins and waterproof tent vinyl. Their hands and feet threatening to lose feeling in the damp cold, they each reminded the other to flex fingers and wiggle toes as much as possible. The waiting and the wondering created frustration and anxiety all night as each new sound sent off alarm bells in their heads. It promised to be a sleepless and restless night once again.
19.
The cold wet night passed into a cold wet morning with the zombie migration finally starting to show signs of waning. The torrential river of undead was fast becoming a trickling stream. Despite the numbers seeming manageable enough to force a confrontation, Neil knew that it was a bad idea. If the beasts were simply allowed to pass without ever knowing that Neil and the other survivors had been there all along, that seemed to be the best option.
It seemed that with the dawning of a new morning, perhaps they would for once enjoy a little good luck. The children were all awake by then but still sitting out of the rain beneath and on top of a tarp. Della had stirred them from their sleep but forbade them from coming from beneath the plastic cover.
Things were really looking good. Neil counted perhaps ten of the foul creatures still on the road. Most were sporting injuries to their legs which slightly inhibited their walking, causing them to straggle far behind the main pack, but straggle and continue forward they did.
These few barely constituted a threat, given the numbers Neil had faced in the past. It felt like maybe th
ings were starting to get better. He knew he shouldn’t tempt fate with his optimism, but it was hard to resist. So little had gone their way that he couldn’t help but feel somewhat contented with the current turn of events.
He turned back away from the road and looked down toward DB and Alec, who were the farthest south of their group. Beyond where they hunched behind some larger, round rocks, Neil thought he spied some movement. He was still sitting down, so much of the distant area to the south of them was obscured. Still, he thought he saw something. It could just be his eyes playing tricks on him but he couldn’t tell for sure. He’d been staring so intently into the darkness through most of the early morning hours, he could have just strained his eyes.
No. He was certain he saw it that time. There was something coming toward them up the tracks. Something? There was no doubt in his mind what it was.
He grabbed Jerry’s arm and pointed down the tracks. He needn’t do more as the ghouls’ heads were slowly coming into view. At precisely the same time, Jerry’s and Neil’s stomachs rolled themselves over into nauseating knots. Now something had to be done. Ignoring the problem and hoping that it would merely go away was not an option. The problem was coming straight at them.
This was one of those moments in which Neil would have been thankful for someone else to make the decisions. They could easily take the three nearest to them but would also more than likely attract the attention of the monsters still on the highway. Neil was fairly confident they could even kill the ten or so zombies on the road handily, although it would require the use of firearms. This eventuality would in all likelihood be the force about which Jerry had spoken responsible for turning the horde back on its heels and straight at them in the first place.
All of this raced through Neil’s thoughts as he watched Della rise up from her roost like an agitated bear. Neil didn’t realize the ghouls were as close as they were. She was upon them with such fierce suddenness she set all three of the creatures off balance. She wielded her bat with the deft skill of a ninja but the brute power of a Viking.
She struck the first one’s rotting skull so hard, she very nearly severed it from its similarly decaying body. The impact created a hollow, wet thump of a sound, followed by the beast crumpling lifelessly to the ground. She squared off with the other two still coming at her. One must have noticed the children and recognized them as easier prey because it bypassed Della and started toward them instead.
From Della emerged a scream that would have rattled both heaven and hell. The fearsome spawn of primal rage and maternal instincts, it was a ferocious growl with all the subtlety of an atomic shockwave. Like a linebacker, Della stormed right over the beast in front of her and, in the same motion, swung the bat in a high, air-cutting arc. The bat struck its target with a bone-crunching thwack between its shoulder blades.
The zombie collapsed onto its belly and tried to get back to its feet, but to no avail. Della had crushed its spinal column and broken its back. She took one step and finished it off as it tried to claw its way closer to the children.
The third ghoul was just getting to its feet from Della’s rush. She wasn’t apparently in the mood to give it a moment’s reprieve. This time, she swung the bat in a low, wide sweep, hitting it squarely in the legs. The blow broke at least one of its legs and sent it too sprawling to the ground.
Neil looked at Jerry and then back at Della as she stood amidst the carnage. Jerry said flatly, “Well, I guess we’ll just have to see how this turns out.”
Neil cracked a humorless smile and agreed with a nod. And as Neil had suspected, Della’s assault did draw the attention of the undead octet on the highway. Luckily, there were just the eight and no more of the larger group in sight. Neil stood, ready to wade into battle with his bat, but stopped when he heard the gunshots.
It was DB and Alec. They were shooting wildly at the advancing zombies, both wasting ammunition and creating exactly the kind of ruckus Neil wanted to avoid. Realizing it was too late to avert disaster, Neil nodded to Jerry who fired off three successive shots, bringing down three different targets.
By then, the fiends were less than twenty feet away, so Neil leveled his shotgun against his shoulder and let loose a deafening blast which brought down another. DB had also claimed one, leaving just three more still coming at them.
The hideous wretches started to gain speed the closer they drew to their prey. They were a trio of nightmares. All three would have to gain weight to be considered wraiths, but that was not the worst of their appearance. Their flesh was ripe with open, festering sores and pulled tightly across the protruding bones of their hands and arms and was starting to pull back away from their eye sockets and mouths revealing brittle, weather-beaten bone. Their heads sagged and bobbed with all the muscle control of newborns, but the hunger animating their expressions belied any suggestion of innocence.
Emma and Maggie were no longer content to watch. The two of them, closest to their assailants, leaned against the slate slabs and fired their own firearms. Meghan was using a smaller caliber shotgun, while Emma was sporting a pair of semi-automatic pistols. They created a field of leaden punishment that spread out before them. Neil too fired his weapon, as did Alec. It was a triangulation of fiery death into which the three monsters charged and never emerged. Their shattered bodies rested in horrible twisted heaps beneath the still settling smoke.
Neil, with a look over his shoulder, confirmed that Della was still okay and then did the same with everyone else. His breathing was coming fast and shallow, trying to keep pace with his rapid heartbeat. There was something more though. He felt satisfaction and a little bit of lingering adrenaline that bordered on blood lust.
Looking out over the bodies scattered across the road, Neil wondered if he was feeling the same emotions as guerrilla warriors after a successful ambush. Could they, he and the other survivors, exist in this manner? And for how long? There were guerrilla movements all over the world that had faced overwhelming government forces and materiel for years and had somehow successfully emerged time and time again victorious. Could his group be as lucky?
There was very little time for consideration at the moment. They needed to get themselves going before the horde turned about and started heading back toward them. The tarps were folded into tight but still wet rolls and lashed to backpacks. That was all the packing needed before they were back on the path heading south.
20.
The junction for the Portage Highway was a short way south on the railroad tracks. Typically a bustling crossroads of vehicles coming and going from the scenic Portage Glacier Park and the city of Whittier, today it looked like the busiest intersection on Venus.
Actually, defining Whittier as a city was only possible in the village and small town dominated nature of Alaska. Whittier sat in a sheltered bay and became a stopover for large and small water craft in days gone by. The community that grew up around the anchorage was a hodgepodge of small and large commercial ventures ranging in interests from simple tourist trade, to fishing guides and processors, to government services. The largest structure in the community was the monstrous and largely vacant Buckner Building which was a relic from, first, World War II and then the Cold War. There were a few houses, hotels, and even some multiplex apartment buildings. To refer to Whittier as a city would have been insulting to the smallest of traditional cities in most other places in the world, especially given the fact that the arrival of a single cruise ship to the port was enough to have a significant growth impact on the city’s population for the day.
Despite all of this, Whittier had one remarkable feature that set it apart from all of the communities on the road system in Alaska: it had a single land route entrance that could be closed off by a gate which resembled the impregnable gates of medieval castles. To get to Whittier, a passage had been cut through a mountain which was part of a range walling off Whittier from all other approaches. The passage had been created intentionally narrow and limited with the intention that the g
ate would be opened and closed to help control the flow of traffic, both vehicular and rail, in either direction. No moat had ever as effectively guarded its palace walls as did Mother Nature’s contributions on the Kenai Peninsula.
Whittier, if the gate had been closed in time, could be safe and free of the infection that had wreaked so much havoc on the rest of the state. Whittier could be a safe haven, if...
It was that hope which propelled Neil on his way that morning. They were so close. It was only a few short miles up the road. His enthusiasm was, however, tempered by their recent experiences. They had been running from safe haven to safe haven since that first morning so many weeks ago, and every refuge they found was short-lived. They had been temporary due to glaring flaws. Whittier might be something different. There were a lot of ifs and maybes standing between them and this next possibility.
Scanning the highway, Neil saw, scattered both on and off the road, a few abandoned vehicles; cars, vans, and trucks left by their owners when it seemed like there was no other option. Many of the bones of those owners were left to rot not far from their abandoned automobiles, the zekes close on their heels having overcome them. There were also the rotting, stiff carcasses of ravens who had picked the contaminated flesh from the bodies only to succumb to the same fate.
Dark and damp, the slick pavement of the highway stretched itself defiantly into the scant tones and grim moods of the late autumnal weather. If Neil didn’t know better, he would have guessed that they were at the crossroads of Hell and Purgatory. The trees themselves, leafless and seemingly lifeless, appeared to claw at the sky, angry for having ever sprung from the sorry earth.
Alaskan Undead Apocalypse (Book 3): Mitigation Book 3) Page 10